


The Last of Our Love

by kilaem



Series: The Last of Us [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Character Death, Child Murder, Depression, Families of Choice, Gen, Medical Trauma, Road Trips, Suicide, Survival, Survivor Guilt, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilaem/pseuds/kilaem
Summary: She already knows what she’ll see, flashing in bright red letters.INFECTEDINFECTEDINFECTED“Jesus Christ,” Krolia snarls under her breath, “Honerva set us up.”She looks at the kid for a brief second before looking back to Thace, feeling like she’s going to vomit at the confirmation.It might just be the concussion, she thinks distantly, but no,she would.Thace looks to the kid, and there’s an uncertainty in his eyes as he looks back at Krolia.“Why thefuckare we smuggling an infected boy?”A Last of Us AU





	1. October 23

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting around since August last year, so hopefully posting it will actually make me write it some more? If you know the last of us then you know what this fic is about and I want to do a story I love justice for my first voltron fic. It's M rated for now because I usually save the explicit rating for descriptive sex but if the violence is too heavy later on I'll change it. This isn't beta'd, so my endless love and adoration for those who have suffered through my ramblings about this au <3

It starts a night like any other night. The news is droning quietly in the background, unwashed dishes in the sink, uneaten food waiting to be wrapped still in its pan, and the gentle humming of her husband while he massages her swollen feet. Krolia can’t stop herself from closing her eyes; she’s never been more at peace even as the soft kicks inside of her turn persistent.

“Someone’s lively,” she murmurs, lifting her hand to rest against her belly.

“Well, he just wants to wish you happy birthday, that’s all” Joel says, and Krolia doesn’t have to open her eyes to see the smile on his face.

“Oh, that’s all, is it?” Krolia asks. At his silence she opened her eyes to take him in, a frown itching her brow at his wicked smirk while one hand circled her ankle, gripping tightly, “don’t you dare— no, _Joel!”_

She couldn’t hold her burst of laughter as he dug his fingers into the _one_ ticklish spot that he knew she had. Krolia kicked at his thigh with her free foot, his own laughter making it bubble from her further. He began to relent, the two of them laughing while they watched a little foot shift under her skin.

On cue, Krolia’s phone lit up with her brother’s daily call and she quickly put him on loudspeaker. “Kolivan.”

_“Happy birthday, Krolia.”_

“And just how was your day, dear brother?” she asks, sending an unimpressed look towards Joel. He raised his eyebrows, equally unimpressed in return.

 _“As monotonous as usual, I can assure you,”_ he sighed, no doubt prepared for her arguing.

“Kolivan, I’m not an invalid, Joel just doesn’t—”

 _“Joel is right, Krolia. And don’t play dumb, you know that just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t come in. But we don’t know what this virus is, so can you just please… not fight us on this?”_ His tone was firm and with the look her husband was sending her, she knew she couldn’t win.

“Told you,” Joel sneers, snorting quietly when she sticks her tongue out at him.

“God, fine, you’re both such buzzkills.”

 _“Mhm,”_ Kolivan hummed, a smile in his voice, _“but you love us both for it.”_

“Unfortunately,” she grins, poking Joel’s thigh with her toes.

_“And how is my nephew doing?”_

“Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with the way he kicks,” Krolia says, smiling at her brother’s laugh.

 _“Good to know—”_ there was a distant crash, and then Kolivan swearing at someone nearby, _“—look, I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you both tomorrow.”_

“Alright, Kolivan. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

_“Love you.”_

“Love you too,” they replied in tandem as the call ended.

The news droned on about a boring fluff piece that neither of them cared about, and Krolia threw her head back with a sigh. “I suppose we should clean up.”

“I’ll do it. You go to bed,” Joel says, his thumb absently tracing patterns on her ankle.

“Joel—”

“No, it is your birthday,” he drawled, a soft smile edging his lips as he watched her make a face, “it is your birthday, and you look tired. Let me do it. You rest.”

Krolia gives him a long hard stare, squinting as he stared right back. “Ugh, fine.”

Joel kisses her on the forehead as they both got up, humming as she pulled him back to press a kiss to the lips. She smiled as she kissed him again, slowly teasing his mouth with kisses, letting her fingers tangle in his hair at the back of his neck.

“Stop tryin’ to distract me,” Joel says lowly, his mouth spreading into another smile as she kept kissing him. “I promise I won’t take long.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay, I _guess_ that’s alright then,” she pouts, withdrawing towards the stairs. She barely makes it a step away when Joel tugs her back in, his hands gripping her hips and stealing a deep, toe-curling kiss that leaves her breathless in his arms. “You… you play dirty.”

“I learnt from the best,” he grins, pressing one last soft kiss to her mouth as he reluctantly releases her from his arms. “I love you.”

“Mmm, love you.”

God, does she. He’s the only thing on her mind as she crawls into their bed, and she’s asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow.

The rest doesn’t last long though. Krolia wakes with a parched throat, a feeling of _wrongness_ in her gut, and a buzzing in the back of her head. Distantly, she can hear the neighbours dog barking furiously, uncommon to say the least. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she peers into the darkness, finding their bed empty. “Joel?” she calls quietly, and frowns at the responding silence.

She manages to drag herself out of bed, slowly wandering towards the stairs when she sees the light coming from under the door of the study. As she creeps closer, she can hear the faint sounds coming from the tv, but the room is empty when she pushes the door open. In her sleep addled brain, she recognises the building but she can’t comprehend the words being said — but the headline shows it’s something about a gas leak, maybe even related to the virus going around. The feed collapses, and the worry in Krolia’s gut worsens when there’s a dull thud and the ground quietly shakes. In her peripheral, she sees the explosion through the window, and the building goes down.

 _“Joel?!”_ Krolia calls, more frantically. “Oh, my god.”

There’s intent in her steps now as she climbs down the stairs, wildly searching the rooms for her husband. The low buzz of his vibrating phone on the counter-top, and she reaches for it, seeing Kolivan’s name flashing.

“Kolivan? What’s wrong?”

 _“Krolia, thank god, where’s Joel?”_ She could hear the relief in his voice, but there was still the undercurrent of panic lining it.

“I… I don’t know. I woke up and he wasn't here.”

_“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there in ten minutes, maybe five.”_

“Kolivan—” but the call goes dead before she can even get his name out.

The neighbour’s dog has been barking incessantly, only getting louder as she came towards the ground floor, and the panic in her rises as there’s a squealing yelp and it suddenly goes quiet. It’s eery and unsettling, and Krolia quietly moves into the waiting nursery, but Joel is still nowhere to be seen. Immediately her attention catches onto the things missing from the room, her eyes trailing over the place where the emergency baby bag is no longer resting, and the plush hippo that was resting in the cradle has vanished too.

_“Joel!”_

Krolia bolts from the room, moving as fast as she’s able. The whole bottom floor is empty, and the bubbling panic builds within her. No, she thinks, keep calm. Forcing herself to breathe, she rests her hand on her belly, apologising silently for the stress. There’s a rush of loud sirens, and Krolia’s heart siezes in her chest as police cars drive by, but a dull relief takes hold when they keep speeding along the road until they’re out of sight, the shrill sounds echoing in the distance. _He wouldn't've just left without telling you first,_ she reasons with herself, _if they called him in, he would’ve told you. There’s no way he was at the explosion. He wasn’t on call. He wasn’t on call._ The thought is interrupted when the back door opens and Joel rushes inside, emergency baby bag hanging off his shoulder, hippo strapped to it tightly. There’s a deep set panic in his eyes as he locks the door, and then he catches sight of her.

“Krolia, are you okay? Has anyone come in here?” There’s real fear in his voice as he runs to the safe on the floor, unlocking it as fast as he can and pulling out his gun case. His fingers are fast as he fills the clip, but he keeps fumbling too.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No one’s been here—Joel, what’s wrong?”

“Stay back. Get away from the door,” he insists, moving her over to the solid wall, his back to her.

He’s watching the door and the windows, desperately scanning the backyard for whatever has spooked him. It’s enough to scare Krolia, when they’re both so unrelenting unless the other is concerned. She’s furiously taking stock of him, the way he stands, the way he twitches, for any sign of injury, but he seems perfectly healthy. It takes her a moment to place her extra concern, when she realises he’s wearing his vest and work boots, instead of the pyjamas she saw him in last.

“Joel, what’s going on? You’re scaring me,” she tells him, turning to the open safe and pulling out her knives.

“It’s the neighbours. Somethin’ ain’t right with ‘em,” Joel answers and in his fear, his accent grows broader. It’s something she teased him about when they were younger and irrational, but now she can’t find the strength to poke at it. “I think they’re sick.”

Before Krolia can even think to respond, there’s a thump and Sal stands at their back door, blood coating him. The red stains his mouth, his neck, and the white of his shirt. His eyes are wild and unseeing, just staring at them as he pounds his fist into the glass.

“Sal, back the hell up—” Joel starts, but the response just encourages him to slam harder against the door.

The glass shatters inwards, and it all happens in a rush — there’s barely a chance for Joel to shout out his warnings not to come closer, and Sal begins to rush at them before the panicked warnings are silenced by loud gunshots. Krolia stares at their neighbour lying motionless on the ground, numb to the emotions warring inside of her. She doesn’t know what to do or what to say, so she focuses on trying to take steady breaths as their baby moves inside of her. He pulls them away from the open door, back into the kitchen where there’s no glass that she might step on.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Joel breathes, one of his hands searching until it finds hers. “I was goin’ to come and wake you after I packed everythin’ but the car wouldn’t start—”

“Kolivan said he was coming…” Krolia replies absently, swallowing around the lump in her throat. She moves in a haze, pulling on her boots and grabbing a jacket when lights flare up in the windows as a familiar car pulls in.

Joel pulls her gently by the hand outside, as her brother climbs out of his truck.

“Joel, where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?” Kolivan demands, and then his eyes go wide at the sight of the blood on his shirt. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

“I got some notion,” Joel bites out, opening the back door and helping Krolia get in. “And it’s not mine. Let’s just get outta here.”

It speaks volumes to them all that she doesn’t protest, not wanting to let go of his hand as he buckles her in with the other. He passes her the emergency bag, reluctantly withdrawing from her touch as he moves to the front seat.

“They’re saying that half the people in the city have lost their minds,” Kolivan says quietly, getting back into the driver's seat, “that the virus is some sort of parasite.”

“Can we please just go?” Joel asks, his voice shaking. Krolia gasps as the baby kicks unexpectedly harsh, drawing their attention to her. “You alright, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. He just isn’t happy, that’s all,” she attempts at light hearted even with the unevenness to her voice, and it’s obvious they both see through it as Kolivan starts the truck with more urgency than before.

Joel reaches for the radio, and there’s nothing but a droning buzz. “How long has the radio been out?”

“Minutes. They wouldn’t shut up— they said the army is putting up roadblocks on the highway. There’s no way to get to Travis County.”

“We need to get out. Take 71,” Krolia says quietly, clenching her shaking hands. Kolivan turns on his indicator without question as police speed across the road, heading left. They turn right and there’s just open road. “Did they say how many were dead?”

“Probably a lot,” Kolivan answers, keeping his eyes firmly on the empty road, “they found this one family all mangled inside their house.”

They’re silent as the car moves, all wearily taking in what they see. There’s a smoking car piled against a tree, and Joel swears under his breath. “Jesus Christ, how did all this happen?”

“I have no clue, but we’re not the only town. First it was just the South, but now its the East Coast, the West Coast… We’ve got to get somewhere safe and go from there,” Kolivan says, and then they’re horrified into silence at the sight of a burning home. “That’s Regris’ farm…”

Krolia closes her eyes, her head thumping back against the headrest. “I hope that son of a bitch made it out.”

“I’m sure he did,” Joel says quietly after a moment.

None of them know what to do. How to act. What to say. Krolia opens her eyes and watches the two men in her life, taking them in with as much memory that she can commit to detail. Joel’s dark hair and strong jaw, the scar cutting into his right brow—the way his eyebrows furrow with his frown and make crinkle in the bridge of his nose, the crows feet wrinkling his skin; but Kolivan tries not to wear his fear—his face is stoic and uncaring, his greying hair pulled back into a short ponytail—but if Krolia could see his eyes, she knows she would find it there. There’s a deep set fear rising within herself, and she knows she can’t bury it. It needs to be said.

“Are we sick?”

They reply instantaneously, protectiveness gripping them like vices.

“No—”

“No, of course not—”

“How do you know?” Krolia fights, anxiety swirling within her. Their baby hasn’t even been born and they might be a danger to him.

“They say it’s just people in the city, we’re good—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kolivan—” Krolia snarls, “—Sal worked in the city. Any one of us could be infected...” She trails off, her hand caressing her belly desperately. _Please, god,_ she thinks, begging to herself. _Please let us be healthy._

“We’re fine, trust me,” Joel says quietly, taking his eyes off their passing surroundings to meet her stare. “I promise.”

“Promise?” Krolia whispers, unable to tear her eyes away. She’s searching hard for any doubt he may have, but she only finds his firm unwavering love.

“Promise.”

They drive in silence after that, the air tense and full of unease. It only grows worse when they see a couple of hitchhikers, their bags strung over their shoulders. Kolivan begins to hesitantly slow down, conflicted, meeting Krolia’s eyes in the rearview mirror to silently ask what he should do.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Joel asks quietly, his shoulders tense. “Keep drivin’.”

“They have a kid,” Kolivan mutters, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the wheel.

Krolia has a second of hesitation, but she’s beginning to accept the edges of an oncoming darkness as part of herself already. To survive, she will do what she must: for all four of them. “So do we. Keep driving.”

She meets Kolivan’s gaze again and understanding passes over him as he nods, his foot going back down on the accelerator as he speaks, “Someone else will come along.”

They’re all in agreement now. They say nothing as they hear the pleading for them to stop, all coming to terms with the decision. Joel reaches a hand back to take hers, and Krolia squeezes his hand tightly. It’s a quiet drive, but there’s nothing to be said. Joel keeps a hold of her hand throughout the silence and eventually they pass the hospital. An ambulance pulls out and drives past them, away from the city, but they come to a dead end right beside it. The road is blocked up, full of cars with the same idea they had, and people climbing out of their vehicles trying to see what the holdup is; but no one inside the truck moves. Kolivan’s hand itches towards the gear shift, quickly pulling into reverse as they see a patient stumble along the road and tackle the man from the car in front of them, hands coming down like Sal’s promised to. Another patient dives into the car, and then the one in front of them looks up and stares at them with intent, picking himself up and beginning to move towards them— but Kolivan’s throwing the car around, the man slamming into the window across from Krolia. It makes her jump, but they’re already driving away before he can gain any more traction.

“What the fuck was that?” Joel snaps, and Kolivan shakes his head, driving into the nearby streets.

“Turn left,” Krolia demands when she sees the people blocking the way right, and he follows her lead without question, but the left is just as bad, with an RV blocking half the road. People are running through the small funnel towards the way they came from, trying to get away from _something_.

 _“Go!”_ Joel shouts, his hand tight around Krolia’s.

“I can’t just drive through them, Joel!” Kolivan shouts.

“Back up then!”

“There are people there too!”

While they’re arguing, Krolia notices the lull, and she hits the back of Kolivan’s chair. “Now, go through!”

Kolivan snaps his mouth shut and complies, driving carefully through the small space. There are a few people that run by them, but it’s far better than what it was. Until they’re through and free.

As Kolivan begins to speed up, a flare of headlights appear from nowhere to her left and she shouts in warning; but there’s nowhere near enough time to avoid the collision. There’s the crunch of metal ringing in her ears as the seatbelt jerks tight around her, and it all goes dark when her head slams into the window.

* * *

 It’s a snarl that first wakes Krolia. It’s guttural and rabid, so deeply _wrong_ in the sound that it tears through her brain. And then there’s the screams. It’s echoing and frequent, different pitches and different places, all just one jumbling ringing in her ears. Her cheeks sting, and she feels… too warm and too cold all at once. Wet, almost. She opens her eyes and sees that they’re flipped on their side, the window beside her shattered on the ground, and Joel lying still in the seat in front of her.

“Joel!” Krolia unclips her belt in haste, reaching forward to her husband. She shakes him, and he lets out a groan. “Thank god, Joel.”

“Krolia…” he mumbles, coming back to himself. “We need to get outta here. You’re bleeding.”

She watches him move, kicking out the windshield, the safety glass spidering out at the impact. Krolia slowly moves forward, pausing when there’s close snarl and a thump against the roof of the car. _“Joel!”_

Krolia manages to climb out in time to see her brother smash a brick into the attacker’s skull, leaving Joel standing free. He’s unharmed, unlike Kolivan. There’s a gash running vertical on his face, blood obscuring half his face, but his eye doesn’t appear damaged. Joel reaches for her as she stumbles, and then it’s a cold burst of wind makes her realise why she’s so cold. She stares at her belly, reaching down to touch between her legs. It’s wet. Her fingers are tinged with clear fluid as well as blood.

“Joel…”

His eyes follow hers and he shakes his head, tears gathering in his eyes. “No, no, we can’t—it’s too early... We’re going to need to run. The hospital isn’t safe.”

Kolivan is a steady warm presence at her side, but his bloodied face is still ashen in fear. Joel looks into the car and pulls out the emergency bag, gently putting it over Krolia’s shoulder. His hands shake as he checks that everything is still in there, before he reaches into the back of his pants. Joel holds the gun out to her brother, and she sees the hesitance written there as he eyes it, reluctantly taking it and feeling it’s weight. They know knives, but they still learnt what they had to when they were young.

“You keep us safe,” Joel demands, and Krolia has never seen her brother so scared before.

“With my life,” he swears.

Joel slings his arms around Krolia, not even giving her a second to protest as he guides her in his arms. Through her stubbornness, Krolia hadn’t given up running when she was pregnant, but it didn’t seem to do them any good as it was. They move as fast as they can as a burst of pain rips through her, but Joel is there ready to catch her every time she fumbles. Krolia can hear the screams around them echoing in her mind, and there’s a heavy sound that rockets through her as the nearby petrol station explodes. Her ears ring with each sound of gunshots all around the air as Kolivan moves in front of them, while still keeping an eye on what’s behind.

The cacophony of everything around her makes her head spin as Joel leads her forward, never leaving her to lose herself to it. There’s a deep churning terror that’s making her numb to everything except her family, ignoring the bodies and the heat of nearby flames in favour of keeping her feet moving and her eyes on her husband and her brother. Her lungs burn as she tries to keep an even breathing, but the panic settling in is too much; if he lives at all, he’ll be small. The fear of everything is making all her careful and thorough research leave her head, and she can’t remember if he’s at a stable time even if he’s premature. Unless they can find a hospital, she has no way of knowing if he’ll make it without a machine. _Twenty eight weeks. Too early. Too soon. Twenty eight weeks,_ she thinks to herself. _Please be okay._

Joel’s voice keeps interrupting her panicked thoughts, even if she doesn’t comprehend the words. It works the way she’s sure he intends though, bringing her out of her head enough to stay in the moment and keep moving. It’s a blur as tears fill her eyes, and the wide street turns into a narrow alley. She’s wrenched back and she’s suddenly back in the moment, Joel holding her with one arm and holding off one of those… _people_ with the other. A shock goes through her as Kolivan’s boot kicks the man away, and then the sound of the gun firing in the small space before the man goes limp.

“Let’s go,” Kolivan orders, leading the way.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay. We’re almost there,” Joel says desperately as he guides her along, his voice wavering. “We’re almost there, baby.”

The snarling gets louder as they move, like a nightmare trailing behind them. Krolia is barely paying attention to where they move, too focused on the pain radiating from inside her. _No,_ she pleads, _it’s not too late. It’s not._

She hears the door slam and the sound of them arguing, and she looks up and sees Kolivan barring the door closed against the bodies trying to push inside. “Go, get to the highway!” He snarls, shoving back against the push of the door.

“Kolivan—”

“Joel, you’ve got Krolia. You need to go,” her older brother shouts, staring at her. “She’s in shock. You need a head start. I can out run them.”

“Kolivan,” she says, her voice breaking as they stare at her in despair. “I won’t lose you too.”

“You won’t,” he shakes his head, turning back to the door. “Now _go._ ”

“We will meet you there!” Joel shouts, not having to use much force to make Krolia leave with him.

“Joel, we can’t leave him,” Krolia sobs, the agony unbearable.

“He’s gonna be fine. I promise.”

“Promise?” Krolia chokes on the word, another cry leaving her lips.

“Promise,” he swears, and then he halts to shove an arm under her legs and begin to carry her.

Her legs feel like jelly as they move, pliant in her husband’s arms. There’s a burning inside of her, and she gasps with the pain every time it passes. It’s unrelenting, but they can’t stop as the inhuman noises behind them grow louder. She couldn’t protest even if she wanted too. _I’m too slow,_ she realises, when another thought hits her. _It’s my fault._

“Don’t say that,” Joel snarls, his arms tight around her. “None of this is your fault.”

“Joel—”

“We’re almost there.”

There’s the sound of a helicopter and they pass a tipped over ambulance, the EMT crawling along the ground as someone pounces on him. Krolia can see them running behind them, getting closer with each step. Joel turns sharply, shielding her with his body, and then the things chasing them go down in a hail of bullets. He rightens himself, and Krolia stares at the source. A soldier.

“It’s okay, baby, we’re safe. We’re safe,” Joel gently puts her to her feet, and she can practically feel the relief coming off of him in waves. He starts to guide her forward once more, calling out to the man. “Hey, we need help! Please.”

“Stop!”

Krolia halts and the air in her lungs abandons her in fear. The grip she has on Joel’s arm tightens, impossibly so, but it’s the only thing she can do.

“ _Please,_ my wife, her water broke, we need help—”

 _“Stop right there!”_ He shouts, raising his gun.

Joel starts to step back slowly, and Krolia feels frozen as he shifts his weight deliberately towards her front. “Okay… We’re not _sick_.”

There’s a click of a radio from the man, and he keeps his head turned in their direction as he speaks into it. Krolia can’t see his eyes and it’s killing her inside to not be able to read him. _“Sir, found a couple of civilians in the outer perimeter. Please advise.”_

“What about Kolivan?” Krolia whispers to Joel, another wave of pain crashing through her.

“We’re gonna get you to safety and then go back for him,” Joel replies, quiet as he can be. He looks at her, but she’s watching the soldier. “Okay?”

There’s a beat of silence and Krolia feels Joel stiffen beneath her touch at the soldier’s words.

_“Sir, there’s a pregnant woman. She’s in labour.”_

Another beat.

_“But…”_

Beat.

_“Yes, sir.”_

Time seems to crawl by like an eternity as he turns back towards them.

“Listen, buddy, we’ve just been through hell,” Joel pleads, “we just need—”

His gun raises in their direction.

Joel shifts her in any way he can, but there’s not enough time. _There was never enough time,_ Krolia thinks. _I’m so sorry, my baby boy._

The gunfire rips through the night, and pain rips through her shoulder as she falls on her back. She can’t see or hear Joel, but the soldier stands over her as she tries to shift back. The light from his torch is blinding, and through her tears she can barely lift up her hand to shield her eyes.

“Please, don’t—”

The shot echoes through her pleading, and the soldier falls to the ground beside her. The silence is deafening as Kolivan walks into her vision, Joel’s gun still raised at the empty space where the man had been. The shot that tore through her shoulder is practically numb to the rest of the pain ricohetting through her body, and Krolia sobs through the ache until she hears the heavy cries of a familiar voice.

“No,” she cries, barely able to lift herself to her knees. With whatever strength she still possesses, she finds enough of it to force herself to move, crawling towards her husband. _“Joel!”_

All she can see is red. It’s pooling beneath his hands where he’s clutching at his stomach, and she can see him choking with each breath he takes. “Move your hands, baby—”

Kolivan falls to his knees beside her, pushing her shaking hands out of the way, taking over where she is failing. She collapses at his side, tears flowing freely as Joel reaches for her. He cries out at the pressure Kolivan is pushing on his wounds, and Krolia grabs his wavering hands.

“I know it hurts, Joel,” Kolivan says quietly, but there’s a desperation that resonates down to Krolia’s soul. “You’ve got to stay with us though. You’ve got a baby boy to meet.”

“Baby, please, hold on.” The blood is never ending, and it stains the both of their hands as they try to hold on desperately. It bubbles from his lips, his grip is weakening in Krolia’s, and it renews her tears. “ _Joel…_ Baby… Don’t do this to me, baby...”

“Don’t do this to me, baby, come on…” He’s been keeping eye contact with her through his pain, but as he takes his last breath, she can see the life fade from the man she loves. It rips through her worse than the bullet did, and her voice cracks and break as she quietly pleads to the empty air, “Oh no, no no, _no, please…_ ”

Her next breath chokes in her lungs as she sobs, pleading as another wave crashes through her body and makes her hunch over herself. She feels like a shadow of herself as she watches Kolivan’s bloodstained hands reach for Joel’s, quietly pulling the ring from his finger.

“What are you doing?” She cries.

“Krolia, we have to go,” his voice is firm, offering no protests, but there are tears running down his face the same as hers.

“No, no, I won’t, not without him,” Krolia begs her brother, but all the fight has left her body. She can’t resist as he picks her up with ease, unwavering to her sobs and pleas. “Please, _please,_ don’t do this…”

“There’s still a chance we can save the baby,” Kolivan says, tucking her face into his shoulder. Trying to block him from her sight. “It’s what he would want us to do.”

“Please, _God…_ ”

“I’m sorry, Krolia,” he pleads under his breath, pulling her further and further away from the man she loves.

She stops feeling.

She stops seeing.

She stops being.

* * *

They cut her open.

She doesn’t hear a sharp inhale or the wail of her newborn.

They cut her open and let her bleed, all of her hopes and dreams spilling out on the operating table. The memories of the life before stains her hands like her husband’s blood. She’s numb.

They stitch her bullet holes closed. It went straight through, they say. They pull the glass shards from her cheeks. They call her lucky.

She doesn’t feel lucky.

Kolivan isn’t allowed inside. She’s alone.

White walls. Painfully clean and white. Fluorescent lights. Blinding. Not a man with a gun standing over her. A man with a blade. Red coating his gloves. There’s a mask on his face.

They cut her open.

They won’t tell her. She supposes he didn’t even have a chance to draw first breath.

They stitch her back together, but inside is still a mess. It’s raw. She’s not put back together right. She still feels cut open. There’s a part of her that will forever live and die on that operating table.

No matter how she screams, they won’t tell her. Is it a mercy? She wonders.

Kolivan is waiting. He’s silent. The blood is cleaned from his face. The gash is stitched. They’ll both scar.

He presses the ring to her hand. He found a chain, somewhere. It burns in her grasp. It sits around her neck, burning against her chest. His grip around the plush hippo looks like it burns him, too.

They tell them they’re free to go. But where can they go? They cut her open.

She’s not whole anymore.

 

_They cut her open._


	2. Fourteen Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went and replayed the game just to try figure out my way around the writers block I've been having, so hopefully it gets me writing more! I got up to about seven chapters before I got stuck last year, so... it'll be a staggering of posting so that I don't shoot myself in the foot and post all the fic and then have nothing to fall back on. This _will_ have sheith in it later on, but I'm not tagging it for now since it's not very much content until the actual time it happens. <3

Krolia wakes to the sound of a fist thumping against her door. The sunlight drifting in through shutters makes her eyes sting, her head pounding with each incessant slam of wood. The springs of the mattress squeak as she shifts, her back aching as she stands. Her neck cracks as she stretches, wincing at the ever echoing phantom pains that swirl in her gut. The clothes she’s wearing smells of days worn use but it’s become a long accustomed scent, making wash days all the more satisfying. The rickety door rocks against the frame each beat, and Krolia swears loudly.

“ _Christ_ , I’m coming, hold on,” she shouts.

The sun was already coming through her window, which means only one person can be standing at the other side of her door with such passion. The knocks cease and Krolia sighs at the quiet, wincing as the pains in her body decide it’s a day to be active. It burns through her, and anger shoots through her as she opens the door to the end of the chain.

She raises her eyebrows, unimpressed at the sight of the man before her. “Thace.”

He’s chagrined to say the least, his face twisted in displeasure. His cheek is bleeding and he’s got a split lip, and part of Krolia squirms in bitter satisfaction at seeing it. _Karma,_ she thinks, _after leaving her to her nightmares._

“Let me in, Kogane.”

She rolls her eyes, the door slamming against the frame as she unhooks the chain lock. Thace shuffles into her apartment, not meeting her stare. After all these years, he still refuses to face her in their confrontations. There used to be a part of her that might’ve wondered why, but she knows—how could she not? It stares back at her in the mirror every day; her once brightly coloured and shining hair is now plainly dark and greying, the wrinkles on her face twisted in pain and displeasure while her arms speak of a strength better left unknown, and the scars that mark her cheeks on display for all to see. But that’s not why. She knows it’s not. It’s the same reason why she’s the muscle in their operations, because she has a stare that will stop even the hardest soldiers cold.

The first time she gathered the strength to look in the mirror again, it was a stranger staring back at her. The way her dark eyes bored holes back into her reflection, it was like looking into the eyes of a corpse. People stop short, and they go out of their way to avoid seeing her rage turned on them. After so many years, she would have thought Thace had grown used to it to finally become one of the few who were able to stand it. But no; the guilt of their fight must still be eating him inside. Though, she could be wrong. There have only been two who could fully return her gaze, unflinching and unrelenting. It’s no wonder to Krolia why they take on the world alone, instead of together. Staring death in the face is only sufferable when it’s in the form of a mirror.

“How was your morning?” He asks, defiant and willfully oblivious as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the table, pouring into the nearby glass. At her silence, he holds the bottle out to her. “Want one?”

“No.”

“I’ve got some interesting—”

“Where were you?” Krolia interrupts tonelessly, eyes following him as he reaches for a nearby towel, dousing it with the alcohol. It makes him pause, because they both know the answer. He sighs, lifting the material to his face, wincing as he wipes the blood away from his cheekbone. Thace is tense as Krolia steps closer, but she can see the guilt in his eyes when she gently tugs the cloth from his hand. “Let me.”

“West end district.” He watches her as she methodically clears the blood away, the but she can’t return the tenderness in his gaze. She’s never been able to. “ _We_ had a drop to make, Krolia.”

“Yeah, _we_ ,” she snaps, her touch gentling when he flinches at the next swipe against his skin. “ _We_ had a drop to make.”

“Yeah, well, you wanted to be left alone, remember?” He’s sour, and he has every right to be, she supposes.

She’s never made it easy for him to be around her, but they both know she can’t give him what he wants. It’s why he never speaks about the lone plush hippo that rests in the bottom of her gear, hidden away from all eyes, and it’s why she never goes with him when they needs to deal with Ulaz. It’s the reason why she keeps her singlet on when they tumble into bed together, why his eyes still turn sad when the rings on the chain around her neck fall out from beneath her shirt. Sometimes he gets too close, pushes too much, and he getting bitten for it in return when she lashes out. But she hadn’t meant for him to leave her to suffer through the night alone. He’s the one thing that makes the silence bearable—his presence means that she’s not alone with her thoughts, drinking herself into numb oblivion.

“Let me guess then, the whole deal went south and the Client made off with our pills, is that about right?” Krolia asks, her eyes trained on the heavy bruising slowly coming to the surface.

“The drop went off without a hitch,” Thace shakes his head, pulling a bunch of ration cards out of his pockets. “Enough to last up a couple of months, and then some.”

“So, want to explain this?” She asks, gesturing to her own face.

“I was walking back when these two fucking amateurs tried to jump me,” he admits. “I managed.”

“Too bad you went alone then.”

“Krolia—” he starts, and then takes a breath to recentre himself and change the course of their argument. “They were a couple of nobodies—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Prorok fucking sent them.”

The name brings her pause in her ministrations, a simmering fury at the memory; it wouldn’t take a genius to realise you were being hunted. When you betrayed people you shouldn’t’ve, the only option you have is to go underground—before you’re put there permanently.

“ _Our_ Prorok?” Krolia asks in disbelief, chucking the towel on the table.

“He knows we’re after him,” Thace shrugs, “he figures he’s going to get us first.”

“That fucking son of a bitch—he’s smart.”

“No, he’s not smart enough,” he fights. “Because I know where he’s hiding.”

“Bullshit,” Krolia frowns, her eyes tracking his face. _Holy shit,_ she thinks, _he’s serious._

“An old warehouse in Area Five,” Thace smiles, and it’s a deadly grin, “can’t say for how long, though.”

Krolia’s knuckles itch, the thought of finally tracking him down brings an ugly satisfaction. “Well, I’m ready now, yeah?”

Thace nods, already heading towards the door. “Oh, I can do now.”

There’s a giddiness bubbling inside of her as they exit the building—sometimes, their lives seem dull and repetitive even with the jobs they take, and it takes a rare circumstance to even get near the fucked up version of joy she can find in her life; but the thought of finally catching up to Prorok and their overdue gun payment right now is probably as close as it gets. There are a few people lingering about outside, and there’s an ever present soldier patrolling on the roof several buildings away. She takes an easy pre-set routine to notice it all as they walk, and the muffled sounds of a baby crying make her pace quicken.

Thace matches her speed, but he doesn’t try to reach out for her hand. _Good,_ she thinks. She nearly broke his fingers the first time they heard it and he tried.

“The checkpoint is still open, we’ve got a few hours left until curfew,” he says when they’re a far enough distance away.

“You really let me sleep for that long?”

“I would’ve been back sooner if it wasn’t for Prorok,” Thace says, and the unsaid apology doesn’t go unnoticed. Krolia nods once in acceptance, and his shoulders relax as she does.

The speakers buzz as they come to life with the recorded reminder, the monotone female voice echoing in through the empty streets.

**_Citizens required to carry ID at all times. Compliance with all city personnel is mandatory._ **

The main street is quieter than usual, and Krolia frowns. She and Thace slow their purposeful walk at the heavy presence of all the soldiers, and Krolia’s eyes dart around quickly, taking stock of their surroundings in the run down streets. The ration line is queued up with several people, but the thick metal door remains sealed shut. She nudges Thace with her elbow and he follows her gaze, his expression darkening.

“Half ration week,” he explains quietly, “three weeks in a row now.”

It brings a sneer to Krolia’s face and they keep walking, and unease burns through her. She doesn’t trust the soldiers, and she knows she never _will_ trust the soldiers. After they... After the country had dissolved into military states and then further divided the cities into quarantine zones, Krolia kept her head down and refused to give them an inch, fighting back wherever she could behind the scenes. There was something going on, she could feel it; but with the lack of resources available to civilians, there wasn’t much she could do. But now, it’s different. Now, she has a reputation; _do not cross Krolia Kogane._

There’s a familiar burst of noise as a door slams open, and Krolia pays little attention to the hazmat suited soldiers walking four people out into the sectioned off piece of sidewalk, forced to their knees. There’s the two loud piercing beeps in the air as two people are given the clear, and Krolia averts her eyes further at the pause for the third. There’s a sharp plea before the woman goes quiet, her body writhing on the ground at the lethal injection, and then there’s a shout as the last man tries to run. The sound of gunfire is an old friend at this point, but she won’t look at the way the man’s blood begins to pool over the concrete.

 _“Call a cleanup crew,”_ she hears one sigh.

 _“That’s what happens when you hide out in a condemned building,”_ another soldier says, as if it does any good for the two people now lying dead on the ground.

“Seems like more people are getting infected,” Thace sighs quietly, breaking their careful silence to acknowledge the scene.

“That just means more people are sneaking out,” Krolia replies, their silence resuming the closer they get to the checkpoint.

Thace knows that she likes to listen, to try pick up any information she can. She’s got a good ear for it, and it makes it hard to sneak up on her. Civilians for outside work duty, someone going missing, fake ration cards, people being snatched in the middle of the night with accusations of Blade affiliation, and then… The soldiers talk quietly, but she picks it up with ease.

Lynched. Retribution. A quarantine zone, overrun by riots. Militia strung up. Lined up. Chopped up. _Blades_.

The words make her frown from where she’s lingering, because as much as she loathes them, it’s not their style. A dissatisfied people rising up against their oppressors, sure. But the Blades stoke the flames of resent, never a direct attack. But maybe things have changed.

The ration line and too quick executions of late piece together in her head. They’re scared. Either destroy the Blades before it’s too late, or withdraw and take the supplies before the people can rise up. A never ending struggle for power in one of the military’s main strongholds—Boston was going to become a warzone if they weren’t careful.

In her eavesdropping, she’s gone to staring absently, but she’s too late in realising she’s caught the attention of the two men nearby.

“What are you looking at, bitch?” The one on the right sneers.

“Man, shut the fuck up,” the left hisses, whacking his friend hard when she meets his gaze. “Hey Krolia. We don’t mean no trouble.”

“No harm, no foul,” She tries for an easy tone, but it comes out harder than she intends. The man flinches and nods, looking away from her. She starts back on Thace’s trail, and she hears them start bickering.

_“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know who that is?!”_

Krolia catches up to Thace with ease and he slips a passport into her back pocket, his pace turning casual the closer they get to the checkpoint.

“New papers. They shouldn’t give us any static up here,” he murmurs.

They approach the entrance easily, feigning a confidence that’s had years to develop. The guard asks for their IDs and Krolia passes hers over, paying little attention to the military truck pulling through the entrance beside them.

“What’s your business here today?” The guard asks, inspecting the pages carefully.

“Got the day off. Visiting a friend,” Thace answers.

“Move on through,” he passes the IDs back, nodding to them both.

Krolia begins to move, when there’s a sudden flare of heat before the explosion reaches her ears, the force of it making her stumble back. The guards slam the gate shut in front of them, their voices panicked as they order them to get out and to go. Shouts of Blades. Of calling for backup. The truck is in flames on the other side of the checkpoint, and her ears are still ringing as the sound of gunfire rains through the air.

Thace grabs her by the wrist to pull her away, the two of them bolting for safety.

“Goddamn Blades,” Krolia swears, her head thumping against the door of the building they took refuge in.

“Fuck… So much for the easy route,” Thace grumbles. “They’re going to close all the checkpoints. We’re going to have to go around the outside.”

“Outside the wall?” Krolia asks in disbelief, slowly finding her feet again.

“Or we could just let Prorok go…” Thace trails off, his face smug as Krolia rolls her eyes.

“ _Cute_.”

Krolia is quiet as she follows Thace through the building, relaxing minutely as they come across one of their younger eyes. She lets his voice wash over her in comfort as he talks with the young man, about the explosion and the state of the east tunnel. Clear. No patrols. Paying Prorok a visit. But they’re not the only ones looking.

“Who else?” Krolia asks, drawing their gaze.

“Uh... Honerva,” he hesitates, looking to Thace. “She’s been asking around, trying to find him.”

“Honerva?” Thace repeats, looking back to Krolia. “What would the Blades want with Prorok?”

“You think she’d tell me?” The man snorts.

“Well, what did you tell her?” Thace asks.

“The truth. I got no idea where he’s hiding.”

“Good man,” Thace grins. “Hey, stay out of trouble, alright? The military is going to be out in force, soon.”

He’s young, she thinks. Must’ve only been a child when everything went down. He bids them goodbye at the end of the hallway, letting them take the rest of their route alone.

“Honerva looking for Prorok? What do you make of that?” Thace asks, unwavering and steady beside her.

It helps. It’s small, but it helps.

“I don’t like it,” Krolia shakes her head. “We better find him, before the Blades do.”

Thace hums, and their guard in the room nods quietly as they shift the cabinet along the wall. The glaring hole hidden behind is years old, and it’s an old comfort as they drop down to the floor below. The droning of the generator is an old friend at this point, and there’s a part of Krolia that shifts and unwinds as they get their gear. The weight of his gun in her hand is an agonising reminder, but it’s something that she refuses to give up. The thought of it makes her entire body shudder and protest, so it stays with her. She eyes her space, her lip twitching in distaste as she slides her knife into its usual resting place of her boot. _Four bullets,_ she grits her teeth as she loads the gun, _got to make them count_. Krolia shoves her respirator mask into her bag, refusing to look inside.

She knows what’s there, wrapped and sealed in an airtight bag, away from the polluted and disease ridden air, further wrapped in a jacket and hidden from any chance of accidental sight—and even though she can’t see it, the scar that stretches along her abdomen aches with the knowledge of it resting there with her.

But she refuses to keep it in the apartment. It needs to stay with her when she moves. The reminder of it. The apartment is a place for planning, for nightmares, for a betrayal to her best friend and a betrayal to a dead man in the same act. That’s gut churning sickness she can ignore, for the most part, on the good days, but it’s not something she can inflict on _this_ —it feels like too great a betrayal, to dispose of something intended for a world shattering love and innocence. It’s the one thing she can’t let become tainted by herself. The apartment is for who she is now.

And so it stays hidden.

Krolia moves quietly, and at the warm touch of Thace’s hand on her shoulder, she forces herself to smile. He doesn’t say anything, but his worry is plain on his face. It is every time the Blades are involved—Honvera, more than anything. He doesn’t know all of her past, but he knows enough that his concern is warranted.

“Boost me up,” she says, looking away from him. She doesn’t need to say it and they both know it, but it still makes him move into position with a sigh.

The climb is old and familiar, as is his weight on her arms as she helps pull him up to the ledge. Thace shoves the heavy fallen door back over the drop when they reach the surface, and Krolia can’t resist as her feet carry her forward into the open space. The sight of greenery, of trees and bushes and _grass_ —it’s like a breath of fresh air, seeing the old remains of civilisation and technology be overrun by nature. The city air is stagnant, and it’s a heavy reminder of the world they live in—no, the world they _survive_ in. Krolia hasn’t felt like she was living in fourteen years.

“I haven’t been out here in so long,” she tells him.

“It’s like we’re on a date,” Thace grins, watching her openly.

There’s an ugly part of her that wants to snarl wildly at him, to make a comment about Ulaz—it’s the part of her that’s eternally loyal to her husband, and it’s a part of herself that she fears. It has no place in this world. She bites down on the comment, knowing that she’s upset her friend enough after their last fight, and instead rolls her eyes. “Well, I am the romantic type.”

“You’ve got your ways,” he agrees, and his voice is teasing.

The instinct crawls up her spine again. The outside never normally makes her feel like this. _You’re on edge,_ she tells herself, _it’s because of the Blades. It’s because of Honerva._ They make their way through the carefully constructed maze, but Krolia spends half the time biting her tongue. She knows that Thace understands her limits, and she knows that he’s just teasing. The comment didn’t even make her uncomfortable, but it awoke the cruel, sharp edge that they cut into her soul.

“Think Prorok still has our guns?” She asks, distracting herself.

“For his sake… He’d better,” Thace answers, voice dangerously low. “Once we get our merchandise back, it should be easy to unload.”

Krolia hums, eyeing Thace’s shoulders as she speaks, “Speaking of merchandise, when’s that next shipment due?”

It’s faint, but he tenses. “Well, we’re meeting Ulaz next month; more pills, lots of ammo, supposedly.”

She nods, but doesn’t push further on the subject. It’s a delicate dance when it comes to the two of them, especially regarding the things they want to leave unspoken. Thace stops suddenly, and for a moment she thinks even bringing him up has pushed too far. “Krolia, spores.”

Concern fills her as she pulls out her mask, feeling the seal firm against her skin as clean oxygen flows through it. The air is thick with it as they move forward into the space, green and thicker than fog, the infection daunting as it caresses their skin.

“Where are they coming from? The place was clear last time,” Krolia says quietly. Its stupid, but part of her feels like she’s interrupting something she shouldn’t, like there are eyes all around her when the spores are heavy in the air. It makes her paranoid. If there’s one thing that’s left of her, it’s her humanity, even if it’s turned jaded and bitter; it’s still better than being one of the infected.

“They’re coming out of something,” he answers, his torch shining brightly through the space. “Stay alert.” It’s not long before they find the corpse, disfigured and still. It’s surrounded by rats, and the mutated fungus is only just creeping out of the body; but this place is the perfect breeding ground for the virus. “The body isn’t that old. Keep your eyes and ears out.”

Krolia moves carefully, eyes trained for any possible movement. She’s cataloguing the differences since they last came out, the new holes in the walls, and a bolt of fear goes through her when there’s a crash up ahead, followed by Thace swearing.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, damn ceiling is falling apart,” he calls in response. “Be careful.”

She follows after him, squeezing through the blocked space, when movement catches her peripheral and Thace is shoving her back from the arm reaching for them. She’s drawn her gun before she can even classify the level of infected, but Krolia hesitates at the sight of the man trapped beneath rubble.

“Please, help me,” he gasps, coughing harshly. “My mask broke.”

She’s glad she doesn’t recognise him. It would probably crush Thace to have to watch one of theirs in this situation. There’s a reason why it’s only them who take the outside.

“Don’t… Don’t leave me to turn. _Please,_ ” he pleads.

Krolia sighs, taking aim. There’s no hesitation now, and the shot rings out as he slumps against the ground, blood splattered on the tile. _Three left._ Unless she can find some scattered about, it’s all she has left for the month until they get the next batch of ammo. _So much for making them count._

Worry stirs in her gut at how loud the shot echoed, and she takes to creeping slowly through the desolate building. They’re both crouching as Thace stalks behind her, his breathing low and careful, and Krolia stops in her tracks at the break in the silence. The voices are heavy and feral as they moan and scream, when the crack of bones breaking and the sound of tearing flesh fills the air. They’re not human, not anymore, but the sounds they make are wet and gurgling and _delighted_ as they feast.

“They’re busy,” Krolia whispers as quietly as she can, reaching for Thace’s hand. She clicks off the torch in his grasp, and he nods in return. He trusts her.

His grip tightens when they reach the end of the hall, of the open doorway as one stands there, swaying. _Not hungry, apparently._ His back is turned to them though, and he’s only a runner. He’s still mostly human, at least. It makes it easier. At her movement, Thace tightens his grip before he relents, no doubt weighing the situation as she had. Krolia is quick as she stands, her arm coming up around it’s throat, and it doesn’t make a sound. She loathes the feel of it in her arms as she chokes the remaining life from it, it’s hands coming up to scrabble at her flesh. She feels it’s fingers brush through her hair as it scrambles for purchase, but her hold is too strong. It slumps against her, and she gently lays it down so as to not make a sound.

 _I need a bath after this,_ she thinks, her skin crawling from the infected man’s touch.

Thace takes her hand as she crouches down, holding fast to her as he lets her guide them through the blinding spores. She can make out the infected across the room, praying they stay focused on their meal. She can make out the stairs ahead, and Krolia exhales in relief. The home stretch is still just as slow, but she feels Thace tighten his grip in thanks as they climb.

The spores are practically gone up here, but they know they’re not out of the clear, even as the daylight pours through the open wall. The sounds coming from below them is worse from above, the gaping hole in the floor giving a birds eye view as the sunlight pierces through the haze. Krolia refuses to look down as they shuffle along the board, trying not to think about the noise coming from the feast. She practically throws herself out of the building, not even wincing at the jolt to her ankles and knees as she lands.

Krolia rips the mask from her face, inhaling deep lungfuls of clean air. It’s a claustrophobia she didn’t know she had until her first time in the spores, the amount of trust involved of the device strapped to her face. It could be faulty or the seal could be broken, or something could happen and she could end up like that man inside, choking on spores for the rest of her short human life. _Joel used to play it off so well,_ the thought comes unbridled and it makes her freeze. _Shut the fuck up. Shut up, shut up, shut **up**._

“Let’s head back into the city,” Thace says from ahead of her, turning to face her cowering form at the lack of response.

Krolia hates this, hates _herself_ as he approaches her slowly, weary of what her response will be if he tries to help. Thace is gentle as his hands grip her, slowly pulling her to her feet. He doesn’t need to read her thoughts to be able to know what just happened, being able to read it clear as day on her face.

“The fresh air is the one thing I love about the outside,” he says casually, letting her lean on him with the promise of not acknowledging the burst of weakness later. “I fucking hate the smell of the city.”

Krolia tries not to think about her husband, how that was the exact reason they lived away from the city, but the walls of the quarantine zone stretching high above them feel like they’re pressing down on her psyche.

“Why don’t… you ask Ulaz to get you some of those air fresheners?” She chokes out, and he doesn’t tense against her. It relieves her enough to start calming down, that she hasn’t touched a pressure point in him. It wasn’t even intended to be teasing if she could’ve managed it, it was meant to be sincere.

“Hey, maybe if they weren’t expired, it’d be a good idea,” Thace smiles, his touch lingering as she rightens herself.

Krolia tries to recenter herself, but her focus is shot. She lets Thace lead her the rest of the way, navigating the concrete maze and checking for soldiers as they reenter the city streets. The smell of the city is enough to pull herself back into _some_ semblance of order. It’s still not enough for her own composure however, blindly following as Thace palms over a ration cards as a bribe. He’s always been the talker, and she’s far more than content to let him lead now.

“You know he’s expecting us,” Krolia says quietly, and he shrugs.

“That’ll make it more interesting.”

The smell of meat cooking makes her gut swirl, the sight of a large rat on the griddle making her shift closer to Thace. There are dogs barking, closed behind fencing, and she refuses to look at how many ration cards they cost. She won’t judge them for how they deal with their hunger, but she can’t stop herself from hearing the talk as they pass through. She ignores the words about her, the face they don’t know, in favour of the eager low-to-nothing smuggler clamoring for Thace’s attention, and she bites back her smile as he shuts him down.

It’s easy to ignore the murmurs, but the feeling of eyes watching her as they move is a heavy feeling to get rid of. They don’t trust her like they do Thace. She moves ahead of him while he talks, not reacting to the hands tightening around baseball bats. There’s dull thuds and shouting coming from the enclosed fighting ring, when her path through is suddenly blocked by a body.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Krolia’s knuckles itch as she stares at him, and she sees the indecision in his eyes when Thace voice cuts through.

“Haxus, sit back down,” Thace snaps, coming up behind her.

“Oh, sorry, Thace— didn’t realise the two of you were together,” he rushes, and Krolia watches as the information comes together in his brain. He steps away from her, trying to act like he wasn’t about to start something that he now knows he wouldn’t finish. “Go ahead.”

The people fade away, and Thace is a steady presence as they walk with purpose but Krolia would be an idiot to not be able to see how he holds himself. He’s as eager to get through this as she is.

“I’m looking for Prorok,” Thace says lowly to the hooded man standing guard, easily drawing out a couple of ration cards. “He come through here?”

The man is easy pickings, his eyes narrowing in on the cards. “About a half hour ago. He went back to the wharf. He’s there now.”

Thace relinquishes the card easily as he lets them pass through, and Krolia’s eyes follow the graffiti littering the walls. She tries not to stare at the glaringly bright paint belonging to the Blades, stretching across the multiple walls. She wonders if it still gives anyone hope, or if it’s just routine, like everyone else in this world.

_KNOWLEDGE OR DEATH_

The words echo through her, never to be forgotten. She hates how much she still wishes it were true for her, but it hasn’t been in years, and it never will be again. Krolia makes her own path now.

“Here we go,” She hears Thace sigh, and she looks up to see three men waiting by the entrance of the compound. “Let us through.”

“You guys need to turn around and head back if you know what’s good for you,” their leader says, and the threat in his voice is evident.

 _Three men, three bullets,_ she thinks to herself.

“Our beef isn’t with you,” Thace shakes his head. “We just want Prorok. Let us through.”

The men eye Thace, barely sparing her a glance.

“Turn the fuck around.”

“We’re not going anywhere without Prorok,” Krolia says quietly, drawing their gaze.

They obviously recognise her with the way they tense, but their leader only hesitates for a moment. “Bitch, I will bash your skull unless you turn around and get your dumb ass out of here.”

Thace stiffens beside her, sending her a glance before raising his gun at the man. “Fuck this.”

The shot breaks their standoff and the man drops to the ground, his two companions bursting into movement. Their guns are loud and they don’t take much care, firing wildly into the space. It doesn’t take Krolia much effort as she takes cover, and her gun rings out twice before it’s over. Their blood paints the concrete, red splattered over more graffiti, in the same bright paint from before.

_REMEMBER WHO WE WERE_

It makes her want to laugh, almost—but it’s a quiet and ugly thing.

Thace whistles as they pass the bodies, holstering his gun. “After all these years your aim still manages to impress me.”

Krolia doesn’t respond above a fond shake of her head, moving quietly through the compound. She catches sight of a couple of men littered throughout, but then Thace pulls her down beside him, shaking his head. He nods towards the nearby corner, and Krolia quietly shifts to peer around it. Two guys. Easy, really.

_“How do you know they’re coming?”_

_“Two of our guys died trying to take Thace out. I guarantee you that he and Krolia are on their way here right now to get Prorok.”_

_“Jesus… We shouldn’t have taken this job.”_

_“It’s better than being out on the street. The other day I saw a group of soldiers haul out five civs, all in handcuffs.”_

_“Let me guess, Blades?”_

_“Yep. They lined them all up against the wall and bang, bang, bang, executed them all.”_

_“Holy shit.”_

_“I heard It’s like that all over the city. They’re cracking down on them, hard.”_

It’s easy to take them out when they’re so distracted, and the rest of the base runs the same. It’s child’s play as they creep along, the familiar weight of a body struggling beneath her grip is practically muscle memory at this point. Try as they may, none of them can break through her hold, and they die all quietly. “Where the hell does Prorok get all these guys?”

“If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s writing blank checks,” Thace says bitterly. “Let’s go put an end to that.”

It’s clear from the number of men who choke under Krolia’s grip, Prorok is scared. She doesn’t know whether it’s good or bad, but his paranoia is starting to get to her. Her body count in a day hasn’t been this high for a long time.

“We should’ve brought more people,” Thace remarks, watching as Krolia lets the body in her arms fall to the ground. “It’s getting close to curfew.”

“They would’ve just slowed us down,” she shrugs.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he sighs. “Let’s go wrap this up.”

Thace stops her short, and Krolia follows his gaze. Prorok isn’t even hiding, thinking they can’t get to him here, surrounded by his men. He’s out of sight before long, and then they move swiftly. The docks are quiet when they’re done, and all that’s left between them now is an office door. It feels too easy almost, and Thace gestures to the door.

“Do you want to do the honours?”

Krolia grins, shoving it open and ducking for cover. The bullets ring out, and she’s silent as she waits.

“Get back, get the fuck back!”

“We just want to talk, Prorok,” Thace shouts over the bangs.

“We’ve got nothing to fucking talk about!”

“Put your gun down!”

The gun clicks, and Krolia doesn’t wait.

But neither does Prorok. He bolts, and Krolia pushes herself to be quicker.

_“Prorok!”_

_“Fuck you, Krolia!”_

The door he slammed shut behind in an attempt to delay them flies open at Krolia’s kick, and she hears the tumbling of metal as he tries to trip them up. It doesn’t work like he thinks it will, when she just leaps over the obstacles he sends flying her way. She can hear Thace trying to keep pace behind her, but she’s fueled by her rage.

Krolia leaps through the empty window ledge, coming to a halt at the dead end. Thace stumbles at the sudden stop, and now he has nowhere to go now except behind them. Prorok’s desperation of shaking the locked metal gate begins to slow as he accepts his fate.

“Hello, Prorok,” Thace grins.

“Thace. Krolia.” He turns to face them, trying to play for casual. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Oh, none at all,” Thace tsks, reaching for the errant pipe on the ground.

Prorok’s eyes follow the movement, and he barely has the chance to try run again before Thace slams it into his leg. The crunch of his knee beneath the metal is drowned out by his swearing, and he keeps eyeing Krolia’s steady unmoving presence. _Good,_ she thinks, her hard stare unwavering. They always think that she’s the dangerous one because they think she’s purely the muscle, that maybe they can buy her loyalty or plead to her separately. It’s been too many a times when they’ve tried to play on her empathy, but they never seem to learn that she has none. Especially not for the likes of them, against her and Thace’s unspoken decisions from years of partnership and loyalty.

“We missed you,” Thace sneers.

“Look, whatever it is you heard, it’s not true, okay?” Prorok stutters, his hand clutched to his leg in pain. “I—I just want to say—”

“The guns,” Thace interrupts. “You want to tell us where our guns are?”

“Yeah, yes, sure, but it’s… Complicated, alright?” he nods, no longer watching Krolia leaning against the wall. He’s watching Thace pace above him, and it makes for such an easy prey. He flinches when Krolia moves towards him. “ _Look_ , just, hear me out on this, I gotta—”

Her foot slams into his face and he cries out, unable to move away as she leans over him. He barely moves when she takes his arm, knowing where more resistance will get him. His nose is crooked and broken, bleeding freely. He begs as she straightens his arm out against the concrete, a desperate mess under her touch.

“Stop, stop, _stop_.”

“Quit your squirming,” Thace orders, crouching down beside Krolia to meet Prorok’s eye. “You were saying?”

His hesitation doesn’t last long under Krolia’s tightening grip, and his eyes dart to her, terrified. “I sold them.”

Thace lets out a sound of disbelief, “excuse me?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice! I owed someone!”

“You owed _us_ ,” Thace snarls. “I’d say you bet on the wrong horse.”

“I… I just need more time,” Prorok begs quietly. “Just give me a week.”

“You know, I might’ve done that if you hadn’t tried to _fucking_ kill me.”

“Come on, Thace, it wasn’t like that—”

“Who has our guns?”

“I can’t...” His eyes are closed, and he’s trying to breathe steadily. “ _Please_ , just give me a couple of days—”

Krolia sighs, and the arm in her grip snaps upwards as the bone breaks. He screams, unable to move as Krolia rolls him onto his back. His arm hangs limp and wrong, and tears mix with the blood running down his face.

It does nothing to her.

“ _Who_ has our guns?” Thace asks a final time.

“The Blades,” he sobs. “I owed the Blades.”

Krolia grinds her teeth, resisting the urge to end this early. They know all they need to know.

“What?” Thace asks lowly. Dangerously.

“Look, they’re basically all dead, we can just—just go in there, finish them right off,” Prorok bargains, “we get the guns. Whaddya say?”

Thace meets her eye, sighing as they stand. She reads the unspoken question in his eyes, but she shakes her head. Even if she had more than one bullet, he was the one who they tried to kill. This is his. Krolia sees the corner of his lip pull up in a grateful smirk, and he moves easily as he pulls out his gun.

“C’mon,” he laughs desperately. “Fuck those Blades—let’s go get them!”

“That is a stupid idea,” Thace says bluntly, and Krolia doesn’t even look at Prorok as he fires.

She barely looks at the mangled remains of his face, because they all blend together after a point. _The kill is never as sweet as the hunt,_ she thinks with a sigh. “Well, now what?”

Thace shakes his head, stepping away from the body. “Now we go get our merchandise back.”

They’ve been quick to act before, but her skin crawls at the thought of actively hunting down a Blade. She tries to take pause, weighing the facts in her mind. Thace knows her reservations towards the Blades, and she knows that they’re in desperate need of those guns.

The desperation wins out over her reservations.

“ _How?_ ” Krolia snorts, staring at him in disbelief.

“I don’t know, we… explain it to them,” Thace tries, trailing off at his own frustration. It’s a shit plan and they both know it, and they both know it will probably end in Krolia being shot again if she has to directly deal with Honerva. His gaze is apologetic, but it’s the only option they have. “Look, let’s... go find a Blade.”

“You won’t have to look very far,” comes the weak voice from behind them.

Krolia stiffens at the familiar cadance, her hand going to her gun.

_Make it count._

They both turn, and Krolia can’t stop herself from cataloguing the differences. Her hair is streaked with more grey than before. The fire in her eyes is long since burned out of control, but it’s unwavering as Krolia meets her stare. Her hand clutches her bleeding side, while her other arm hangs by her side, gun in hand.

“There you go,” Krolia sighs, “queen Blade.”

Krolia turns her back on Honerva, needing to clear her head. She’s grateful for Thace by her side, for being the one reason why she _can_ turn her back. The sight of her brings back a swarm of memories that she’s rather keep buried, of the hope that used to drive Krolia forward into survival. She prefers the job, the rage, burning through her, rather than an endless disappointment and broken promises, drowning it all out with numb, _numb, **numb.**_

She manages to force herself back into the situation, the need for answers winning over her need for peace.

“What are you doing here?” Honerva asks.

“Business,” Thace answers casually, never taking her eyes off her. “You’re not looking so hot.”

“Where’s Prorok?”

Thace steps aside, moving closer to Krolia. Honerva’s eyes follow his movement, dropping down to the broken corpse on the ground, his blood pooling around him.

Her laugh is bitter, shaking her head. “I needed him alive.”

Krolia looks to the body and for once, it’s an easy thing to look at. Anything is better than her. She folds her arms close to her body, trying to feel as protected by her stance as she can.

“The guns he gave you,” Thace starts, and Krolia is impressed by the restraint in his tone, “they weren’t his to sell. I want them back.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Thace,” Honerva says carefully.

“The _hell_ it doesn’t,” he snaps.

“I paid for those guns,” she argues, and the protectiveness in Krolia’s gut flares as she steps towards them. “You want them back, you’re going to have to earn them.”

Thace looks back at Krolia, but she’s barely any help. She just wants to get out.

“How many cards are we talking about?” Thace says eventually.

“I don’t give a damn about ration cards,” Honerva snorts, and Krolia feels her stare on her skin. “I need something smuggled out of the city. You do that—I’ll give you your guns back, and then some.”

“How do we even know you have them?” Krolia turns back towards them, and Thace is watching her carefully. “The way I hear it, the military’s been wiping you guys out.”

She steps as close as she dares, refusing to be intimidated as she meets Honerva’s stare. It’s strategic, and she knows that Honerva can read it as that, the way she stands in front of Thace. Her back to him. How much she trusts him.

Honerva drops her eyes first. “You’re right about that… I’ll show you the weapons.”

_“Search the area!”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

“I’ve got to move,” Honerva shifts at the sound of the soldiers, meeting both of their stares. “What’s it going to be?”

“I want to see those guns.” Thace looks to Krolia, and she hates herself for nodding in agreement.

“Follow me.”

Krolia wishes it was easy to follow Honerva’s steps, but her body protests at each turn. It’s simpler to focus on Thace, to pretend like they’re just running at another task head on, instead of running to the aid of a crumbling rebellion. She leads them up to the roof, the city stretching before them, when there’s an explosion a few blocks away.

“Holy shit,” Thace breathes. “Is that your people?”

“What’s left of them,” Honerva sighs, but her voice shakes. “Why do you think I’m turning to you two? You’re meant to be the best.”

Krolia internally returns the sentiment as the thick black smoke trails into the sky. The ugly beast inside of her rears its head, but this time she feels no need to reign it in. It coats her tone, making her voice thick with it. “So, why now?”

“We’ve been quiet. We’ve been planning on leaving the city, but they need a scapegoat,” she sighs. “They’ve been trying to rile us up.”

“Looks like they did,” Krolia sneers.

“We’re trying to defend ourselves,” Honerva snaps, and the air hangs heavy with the unspoken past.

None of them break the tense silence as they move, but Krolia sticks to Thace’s side as much as she can. She’s been rattled enough throughout the day, and he knows her well enough to know when she needs him to be her dock in the harbour. Letting Thace guide her is as easy as breathing at times like this, and it’s easy to sneak past whatever soldiers they come across. It reeks too much of a trap with the twists and turns she’s taking them on.

“Where are we going, Honerva?” Thace asks eventually.

“This way,” she winces. “It’s not far now.”

Thace shares a look with Krolia, but it’s too soon to act. They need the guns, more than they need the fall of the Blades. Honerva looks as if she’s running on fumes, but Krolia isn’t going to offer help. She’s not even sure if it would be accepted if she did.

“It’s right up ahead.”

**_Attention. Curfew is now in full effect. Anyone caught outside without proper authorisation will be arrested and prosecuted._ **

“Shit,” Thace swears under his breath, “we need to hurry.”

“What the hell are we smuggling?” Krolia snaps, her patience running thin.

“I’ll show you.”  
  
The speakers drone with repeated warnings, and the knife on her person feels like it’s whispering to her. It would be so easy. It would be quick. Thace nudges with her elbow and she sighs, following reluctantly through the empty building.

“Krolia, give me a hand with this.” Honerva is struggling ahead, her body too weak from exhaustion to open a simple door.

 _Be careful,_ Thace’s look says.

The door is heavy, but it shifts easily under her attempt to shove it open. With their combined weight it flies open, and Honerva collapses to the ground unexpectedly. She can’t stop herself from reaching out, going to pull her to her feet.

“Hey, come on now,” Krolia says, gentler than she wants to be.

 _It makes sense,_ she thinks, _you bled the same wounds, you fought the same grief. In another world, she’s you._

It’s why she doesn’t see it coming.

_“Hey!”_

Thace’s voice snaps her out of her head and she jerks away from Honerva, turning to face him. But she doesn’t expect to see a child’s wrist in his grip, nor the switchblade that had been aimed at her back.

“Get the fuck away from her!”

 

**Author's Note:**

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